


even if I come back, even if I die

by assassinactual



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinactual/pseuds/assassinactual
Summary: After. Root is gone, but some things don't quite add up. The cat’s both alive and dead until you open the box, but She did and the cat wasn’t there.Post Return 0, canon compliant technically, probably, I guess. This is a standalone fic, not part of my other series.





	1. if there's any other way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updated 30 January 2019. No substantial changes, but fleshed out some parts a bit.

1 January 2016

 

[!]PERIMETER.ALERT: SUBWAY.NW.04

TRACKING SUBJECT: UNKNOWN

SUBJECT FOUND: SUBWAY.HALL.01

[!]ANOMALY

SUBJECT IDENTIFIED

STATUS: UNKNOWN

[!]ANOMALY

SWITCHING.TERTIARY_OPERATIONS

CONTACTING PRIMARY ASSET…

 

13 November 2014

 

It’s somewhere on the edge between night and morning, when even New York slows down. The only things to be heard in Sameen Gray’s bedroom are Root’s light footsteps and the faint creak of the floorboards. She has only slept a few hours, woken by the sounds. Or – she’ll admit to herself, at least – simply by Root’s absence from her side.

Sameen lies unmoving in bed, watching Root circle around the room gathering her clothes. She’s half dressed, her pale skin standing out even in the dim predawn light. At the foot of the bed she pauses, picks up a sock, and drops it on the dresser. Then towards the window, she moves into the glow of the streetlight outside. She bends to pick up her shirt, turning her back to Sameen. In the wash of orange light, her most recent gunshot wound is visible. A contrasting spot, now small enough to almost be hidden behind her bra strap.

“Hey,” Sameen says, her voice rough from sleep.

Root turns, breaking into a smile. She comes back towards the bed, flicking the lamp on the nightstand on as she passes it. Root drops the shirt on the bed, then leans over Sameen. Gently touching her arm, trailing her fingers down until she’s almost holding her hand.

“Hey, baby. I thought you’d want to sleep in. I seem to remember keeping you up pretty late last night.” She says it with a smug grin, which Sameen matches.

“More like this morning.” She sits up, though she’s careful not to move Root’s hand. “What’s the hurry? I thought the boss wasn’t talking to you?”

Root gives Sameen’s hand a light squeeze before pulling away. She grabs her shirt, pulls it on, and starts buttoning it. “The streetlight was flickering when I woke up.”

Sameen glances out the window, then back at Root. “Yeah, it always does. Fucking annoying.”

“It always gives you coordinates in Morse code?”

Root steps away, grabs her socks off the dresser, then leaves the room. Sameen watches her go, frowning.

The fleeting peaceful moment that belonged to her and Root alone is broken. Reality that fell away so easily the night before comes rushing back. Throwing off the covers, she leaves behind the warmth and the scent of Root.

She finds Root on the dingy couch, pulling her shoes on.

“So you’re just gonna keep rushing off into danger by yourself?” Sameen says as she passes by on her way to the kitchen on the opposite side of the apartment’s main room.

“We’re at war, Sam. We’re all in danger.”

She hears Root stand, then the click of her steps following her to the kitchen.

“Yeah, and that’s why we need to have each other’s backs.” She turns around, facing Root. She hasn’t slipped into her personal space like usual, so Sameen closes the distance between them. She looks right into Root’s eyes as she speaks, inches away from her face. “We’re a team. You’re not alone anymore.”

“I’m touched, Sameen, but right now it’s more important for you to keep your head down.”

Sameen holds the eye contact a moment longer. She takes half a step back, then nods towards the coffeemaker on the counter beside them. Root shakes her head. Sameen brushes this off with a shrug, then pulls a single mug from the cupboard.

Sameen can feel Root watching her as she makes her coffee. Hovering behind her, almost awkwardly. The silence between them is strange and uncomfortable. Not the usual sort that no one feels the need to fill with pointless chatter. (Root might chatter, but to Sameen it’s never pointless.)

When she’s done with the coffee, she turns around to find Root writing something on a piece of junk mail she’s left on the counter.

“Here,” Root says as she finishes and hands the envelope to Sameen. “That was my number when I was younger. If I’m in trouble, and She thinks you can help, She’ll call you.”

Sameen nods. Root hovers for a second more, looks like she might say something else. Instead she turns and heads for the door. Only when she’s gone does Sameen look at the envelope. The writing is a bit sloppy and hurried, but the number and the Machine’s encoding of it is still clearly legible.

_Time SH 523_

_Metaphysical LM 973_

_Earnest OW 822_

 

1 January 2016

Earlier

 

A numbered grave marking a coffin full of cinder blocks. Swathes of footage and data from that day and the days after corrupted or erased or missing. It hasn’t been done carefully or subtly. It’s a brute force destruction of data. She’s been over it thousands and thousands of times. There’s nothing conclusive left, no leads to follow. But the negative space left by the missing data paints an intriguing picture itself.

If Samaritan was there at the hospital, why go back and exhume the grave? Why weigh down an empty coffin? It has been gnawing at her for weeks, giving a faint, irrational spark of hope.

Thousands of simulations, thousands of plausible reasons. But She can’t know with certainty which if any are correct. She needs more –

[!]ALERT

– data.

A credit card. Taken from a Samaritan asset that day the safe house, given to Root by Shaw. Used nine minutes ago at a convenience store in Brooklyn.

CONTACTING ASSET FUSCO.LIONEL…

_Hey, Lionel._

“Jesus. Warn a guy when you’re gonna use his dead friend’s voice will you?”

 _She –_ In the space between the words, She thinks: How does she refer to Root? Past or present? Alive or dead? The cat’s both alive and dead until you open the box, but She did and the cat wasn’t there. The evidence isn’t there, but the hope is _.  – would’ve appreciated you calling her a friend. She didn’t have very many, but they were important to her._

“Yeah, well… I don’t suppose you called just to chat?”

_Unfortunately, no. I have a stolen credit card I need you to look into. The details are on your phone._

“Sure, it’s not like I have a job to do or anything. Hey, speaking of friends, how’s Shaw doing? Really?”

 

“I’m freezing my goddamned tits off.” Shaw crushes a piece of a cherry candy cane between her teeth, and points the stub of it clutched in her hand at a nearby camera. “And don’t fucking tell me I should’ve dressed warmer.”

The weather turned warmer with thick, wet snowfall early in the morning. But not warm enough for her leather jacket to be adequate protection from the chill. She does have one of her heavier sweaters on, at least.

_I didn’t say anything._

“Smart move.” She pops the remaining piece of candy cane into her mouth, and puts the wrapper in her pocket. 

Bear eyes her as she does, knowing what else is in that pocket. He’s too well trained to really whine or pull, but the quick glances back at her and to the open field they’re walking alongside tell her all she need to know. The earlier snow has tapered off to some scattered flakes. But the park is still fairly deserted, so she doesn’t need to be to choosy about location. Or watch out for other less well-trained dogs and their poorly behaved humans.

Shaw guides Bear a few steps off the path, then unclips his leash. “Alright buddy, let’s go.”

He perks up, ready and waiting as she reaches back into her pocket for the ball. She pitches it down the field, and he’s already running before the ball even leaves her hand.

She glances at her watch after he catches the ball, noticing the date. “Happy birthday, I guess.”

_Really? You just noticed now?_

Shaw picks the ball up. She waits a moment. Bear sits obediently in front of her, almost vibrating with excitement. She throws it again, then answers the Machine.

“Sorry I missed the ball drop, I was busy taking out leftover Samaritan assets.”

_I told you I’d take care of it._

Her demeanor subtly shifts. No longer relaxed and playful, more intense and serious. “I’m not taking any chances. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

The Machine surprisingly doesn’t have a reply to this. They’re both silent as Shaw tosses the ball a few more times.

_So did you get me anything?_

Shaw smirks. “You know, that one time on Root’s birthday I – “

_I still have the footage of that. And I see you naked every day._

“Now I’m glad I didn’t get you anything, creepatron,” she says, rolling her eyes.

 

As Shaw is walking back to the subway, She gets a message from Lionel. A photo of grainy convenience store surveillance tape displayed on a monitor older than She is.

A tall, slim woman buying some snacks. The angle and lighting are bad, the resolution worse, and she’s wearing a hood. Not confirmation, but there’s nothing to exclude the possibility. She could match the woman to Root. But by the metrics she’d need to use, she could also match her to hundreds of other women in the city.

She still needs more data.

She doesn’t expect it too come in the form of an alert from the subway’s security system.

 

The subway station isn’t what it once was.

The gaping hole in the wall was quickly patched by a Thornhill crew, but between the missing car and the wrecked equipment she’s removed it’s a lot emptier than before. Some of the already sparse lighting was damaged too, contributing to the gloomy, cavernous atmosphere.

It suits Shaw just fine; the space is as functional for her needs as ever. Bear seems a little put off by it though, so she has plans to fix it up a bit. In the meantime, she’s bought a crate for him, put his bed in it, and tucked it away in Root’s little nest.

He seems happy with it, running right over there and laying down when they enter, like he has for the last week or so.

(That is the one part of the station that has barely changed at all. The cozy little nook is still filled with all of Root’s personal touches. Well, almost all – a few things have made their way to Root’s old safehouse that Shaw has claimed as her own.)

Shaw instead makes her way over to the work table, and sets to pulling the hard drive from a burnt-out laptop recovered from the hideout of some former Samaritan goons.

She hasn’t been at it long when an unexpected sound breaks open the silence of the station.

It takes a moment or two to register – the Machine has been more direct about her communication since that first call a few weeks ago.

The old payphone, once bricked up in the wall, is ringing.

She rushes over to answer it and is greeted with a familiar tone followed by the Machine’s old robotic composite voice reeling off a number. She reflexively pulls out her notebook, but before she can write anything down, she stops.

She recognizes this number.

“Why are you sending me this?”

The Machine doesn’t answer.

Then: a noise from the direction of the entrance. Locks turning, the door scraping open.

Shaw spins around to face it, drawing her USP.

The phone receiver falls, clattering against the wall.

It stills, and the station falls briefly silent. Then rhythmic _clack clack_ of heeled shoes echoes through the station. A very familiar cadence, descending the steps.

They reach the bottom, where Shaw has her gun trained, and the intruder steps into view.

A shadowy outline, backlit by the lone light near the entryway. The shape of a tall, thin woman, long limbs and wavy hair.

She stands there, seemingly waiting. There’s a light next to Shaw, she knows she's fully visible, at a disadvantage. But she stands still, not moving a muscle, barely breathing.

The tone sounds again from the fallen receiver, loud in the heavy silence. The voice that follows isn’t as clear, but Shaw doesn’t need to hear it. She’s had the words and the number memorized since she first read it a little over a year ago.

_Time, Sierra Hotel. Metaphysical, Lima Mike. Earnest, Oscar Whiskey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this going in one form or another since about a week after Return 0 aired. It was something else, then it changed into another thing, now it’s this. A lot of stuff ended up getting cut, but some parts got left in and the whole direction of the thing changed. I’m not sure it really all gels together? But I’m pretty happy with it. Anyway. Thanks for reading, leave a comment or hit me up on [tumblr](http://www.bashinginminds.tumblr.com) to chat.


	2. if there's anything to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a reunion in the subway, flashbacks to the morning of _that_ day, and... something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doesn't get into the actual action from tdtwwa, but there is a lot of root, shaw, and the machine talking/thinking about how root is going to die/has died.
> 
> also, for anyone who might be coming here from a subscription email, I added a bit to the first chapter as well.
> 
> edit: fixed some rather important formatting that got lost in the copy the first time. also, if you got two emails for this it's just because I screwed up posting it the first time.

22 March 2014

 

“I _know_ you’re capable of doing this yourself,” Shaw says to Root as she cuts a length of tape. They’re sitting cross legged on Shaw’s bed, facing each other. Root has her shirt off, to let Shaw clean and change the dressing on her gunshot wound.

“Yeah, but it’s so much easier when you do it,” Root replies. Shaw just rolls her eyes as she works. “Honestly,” Root admits, “it was just an excuse to take my clothes off in front of you.”

She smirks, then adds: “Not that we need one.” Her eyes roam over Shaw, in a similar state of undress. Shaw doesn’t say anything, her expression doesn’t really give anything away, but Root sees the little twinkle in her eye.

“Done,” Shaw says, applying the last piece of tape and gently patting the bandage.

“Kiss it better?”

Shaw pulls a face. “I’m not kissing your gross open wounds.”

Root pouts, and Shaw quickly relents. Instead of going for the _gross open wound_ though, she grabs Root’s hand. Bringing it up close to her face, and pressing a kiss onto her knuckles.

Root watches wide eyed, forgetting whatever flirtatious line she was going to throw back at Shaw.

Shaw catches Root’s unusual silence. She looks up at her, still bent over their joined hands, and locks eyes with Root while her lips turn upwards in a faint smile.

 

27 November 2015

 

It comes all at once, without warning.

The quiet morning in her safe house with Shaw is broken when her implant comes alive with a familiar tone.

The Machine hasn’t been talking to her much lately. For both Her own safety and Root’s. Though that doesn’t explain why the lack of communication persists even in the subway. Whatever the reason, She hasn’t been supplying Root with the constant flow of data she had in the past.

Until now.

The flood of it overwhelms her. It’s more than what was usual, enough that even she has trouble processing it. She’s been swamped by the flow of information in the past when things have been in flux, but never to this degree. Without even beginning to interpret it, she knows this is bad. She tries to keep her face neutral, not wanting to burden Shaw with whatever this is just yet.

Gradually, she picks out pieces of it, and the Machine slows down the frantic onslaught of data. What stands out the most:

_Probability of survival:_

_Primary Asset Reese: 31%_

_Primary Asset Shaw: 39%_

_Primary Asset Fusco: 44%_

_Admin: 14%_

_Analog Interface: 0%_

Even doing what she thinks is a pretty good job controlling her expression, Shaw picks up on it.

“You okay? Machine telling you something?”

Root smiles at her. Wide, genuine. She just got Shaw back and even if she’s a long way from okay she’s here.

“Just something unexpected that came up,” she says. Root stands, and circles around the table. She stops to drop a kiss on top of Shaw’s head before taking her empty cup to the sink. “Go take your shower, we’ve got time.”

Root hates to be anything but honest with her, especially now. She’s sure if Shaw asks her outright, she’ll cave, but doesn’t want to drop this on her yet.

Shaw, however, accepts her excuse. She finishes her last bite of toast and downs what’s left of her coffee. She too drops her dishes in the sink, then heads to the bathroom.

Once Shaw is gone, Root crosses over to where two armchairs sit under the window and drops heavily into one.

Root’s gaze is unfocused, pointed somewhere around where the wall gives way to the darkened hallway. Shaw must have left the bedroom door open; she can hear the water running in the ensuite at the far end of the apartment. She knows Shaw never takes very long, and that she won’t have quite as long as she’d like for this conversation.

“I suppose it would be pointless to ask if you’re sure.”

_Simulation activity: 4,020,131 options analyzed. No valid options._

“Oh, sweetie,” she says softly. To have run that many scenarios in the time She had, She must have been pushing Herself right to the limit. Probably still is.

Meeting her end like this is something Root accepted a long time ago.

Or, she _had_ accepted it, until Shaw came back. It’s not that she isn’t still prepared to do whatever she can to keep the safe. To give the Machine, or Sameen just one more chance, just one more moment, she would throw herself into certain death without hesitation.

But now…

Root knows Sameen will get through this, with or without her. But she can’t bear the thought of her doing it alone. Of not being by her side through it all.

Of all the things in her life that haven’t turned out as she expected, of all the twists and turns, missed opportunities and mistakes, this is the one she’ll regret. If she’s to die now – even if it’s in the name of saving the others – she will regret not doing everything in her power to stay with Sameen.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, focus on the others. Try to keep yourself safe, and Sameen.”

_I do not want to lose you._

“I don’t especially want to go. But we’ve got a job to do.”

The Machine acknowledges her with a tone, then data starts flowing again. Different scenarios, different projections. She listens, answers where appropriate, but she’s not really focused on it.

Already, a plan is developing in her mind.

Why the Machine discarded it – She must have thought of it if Root did this quickly – she doesn’t know. Maybe she judged it too risky, too small a chance of success. Or maybe Her involvement would give it away, draw Samaritan’s attention. (Maybe it will anyway, the little voice in the back of Root’s mind says.)

(There’s also the plan they started working on together last month, around the time they She helped Root send the message to Shaw. What She wants with a decaying Soviet missile base in Lithuania, Root can only guess. Whatever Her plans were, they must not have had time to fully develop yet.)

Whatever Her reasons, Root can’t ask now. Form this point on, this part of the plan is hers alone. Entirely outside of the Machine’s knowledge, Her probabilities and predictions. It will be tricky, but Root’s moved in the shadows enough to know how to avoid the Machine if she wishes.

It’s almost literally last minute. Quick, dirty, more of a gamble than a plan. But she’ll take any chance she can. If there’s the slightest opportunity to keep Shaw and the Machine from losing her for good, she’ll take it.

 

1 January 2016

 

Shaw stands absolutely still.

Automatically falling back onto taking stock of her situation while trying to understand what’s in front of her. Her thoughts, racing in parallel:

Root is dead.

Eleven rounds in the USP in her hands, eighteen more in the M&P in her waistband, and seven in the .380 in her jacket pocket.

It’s not her.

A flashbang, a switchblade in her jeans, a small dagger in her boot.

_Root is dead._

Various traps around the subway – claymores and smoke bombs and pipes full of C4 and ball bearings. Tripwires made safe, but remotely triggerable if needed.

Root is dead and gone.

But this shadow is standing in front of her. And Shaw can’t quite bring her aim to the center of it – her sights hover somewhere over the left shoulder. Fleetingly, she thinks: _a shoulder you shot once before_. Followed immediately and much more forcefully by: _it’s not her_.

Then, a quiet voice in the back of her mind, not unlike Root’s (and definitely not the Machine in her earpiece): _You never saw the body. She was gone by the time you got there._

There’s no illusory itch behind her ear; it’s not the reality of it that’s in doubt, really. It’s integrating what she’s seeing with what she _knows._

But she doesn’t know. She never saw the body. She read the reports, had word from Lionel – but Shaw was dead once too. What she knows is what she sees: the shadow – the shape – is definitely Root. Boldly outlined in stark light and dark. Distinct, and very real.

"What the fuck?"

There's a burst of static, a tone, then a thousand cacophonous voices all run together. The Machine trying to say something in her old way, but not quite getting it out. "Come on, talk to me."

The Machine falls silent, and Shaw’s gun falls to her side.

Root’s shape detaches herself from the darkness, stepping forward and becoming more real. As she crosses into the light, the hard outline melts away into familiar features: the lines of her face; flowing, wavy hair; nails painted black.

Unfamiliar is the furrow of her brow and her lips, parted but silent. Uncertain, hesitant.

“Don’t – don’t blame Her. She didn’t know.” She speaks softly, and her voice is rough, but it’s Root.

Hearing _her_ voice for the first time in a month – even though the Machine adopted it, the distinction was always an easy one to make for Shaw – sets everything into place so suddenly she almost wants to laugh.

Like their reunion, this is so distinctly Root that Samaritan never would’ve gotten it right. Dying, then out of the blue coming back all on her own, confusing even her AI god? Not in seven thousand or even seven million variations could Samaritan have come up with something like this.

Almost within touching distance now, Shaw can see the weariness and the wounds weighing on Root. The dark circles under her eyes, the heaviness of her steps. Her left arm hangs unnaturally at her side, and there’s a little hitch every few breaths she draws in.

Root notices Shaw scrutinizing her. She opens her mouth, to try to tell Shaw she’s _just fine_ , probably.

She doesn’t get a chance, though. Her parted lips let out a soft gasp, she stumbles, and her legs crumple beneath her.

Shaw reacts quickly.

She closes the little space left between, and catches Root before she can collapse onto the cold concrete floor.

 

27 November 2015

 

Shaw comes back out, her hair still damp, to find Root balancing in front of the apartment door, pulling her boots on.

“Going somewhere?”

“I just need to go run a couple errands. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Better be,” Shaw says with a scowl.

“I’ll bring you second breakfast?” Root offers, knowing the way to her girl’s heart.

Shaw grunts in agreement. Root leans forward to give her a quick peck on the lips. Shaw lets her, and lingers there. When she does finally pull away, there’s a subtle little look of content on Shaw’s face.

“Later, baby,” Root calls as she’s leaving.

She’s still smiling as she steps out of the building onto the street. Whatever’s coming for them, she’s going to enjoy these moments with Shaw for all they’re worth.

 

She has to hurry, but she makes it to her first destination just in time.

A derelict apartment building, along a little-used side street. It’s also, helpfully, a camera deadzone. She settles into the little alcove around the boarded-up side door, watching the reflection of sidewalk in the windows of the shop across the street.

She isn’t waiting long before her target rounds the corner.

Alone, as she expected. And with no other witnesses around. The woman – young, blonde, Shaw’s size or smaller – isn’t really paying attention to her surroundings. Root, from her concealed position, waits patiently until she passes in front of her.

Then she reaches out, grabs a handful of hoodie and backpack strap, and drags her into the alcove.

The woman’s eyes widen in fear, she shouts, and pulls her hand back as if to strike Root.

Then she freezes.

“You!” she says, her eyes widen even more.

“Me!” Root replies cheerfully. It’s always nice to have your work recognized. “Hi, Emma.”

“What do you want? Are you going to kill me?”

“It’s okay, you’re safe. From me,” Root says, patting her on the shoulder. “My boss doesn’t like it when I kill people. And those friends of your uncle’s are all still alive.”

None of this seems to comfort Emma much.

She’s a med student that Root ran into and investigated while working a number a few weeks ago. With ties to the mob and a job at a nearby hospital, she’s the best option Root has on short notice for this part of her plan.

“Listen, I need you to do something for me.” Root gives her some time to process, which she doesn’t seem to be doing. Rolling her eyes, she pulls a stack of bills out of her bag and presses it into Emma’s hands. “Consider this a down payment.”

“For what?”

“You’re gonna help me.”

“Why?”

Root smiles, overly sweet. “Well see, I know about your little side job for your uncle. And I know you’re skimming a bit off the top.”

“Med school is expensive, okay?” she says defensively.

“Sure, sure.” Root waves dismissively.

“Okay, what do you want anyways?”

“So glad you decided to play,” Root says condescendingly. “See, the thing is, I’ve got myself into a little _disagreement_ with some not very nice people. They’d like me to be dead, and I really wasn’t planning on dying. So, if, for example, I was to show up at your hospital sometime this afternoon with a rather serious gunshot wound, I want you to make it look like I’m dead, when I am in fact not.”

“Um – “

“Don’t play dumb. I know you can do it.”

Emma gulps, and nods.

“Great! I’m sure some people will come along to collect my not-quite corpse quickly. You’ll know what to do.” Root pats her reassuringly on the shoulder. It doesn’t seem to help.

Emma looks down at the money, then back at Root.

“What’s in it for me? I could lose my job for this. Why shouldn’t I just let you die or whatever?”

“Well,” Root says, smiling in a way that makes Emma shudder, “like I said, I know all about the business you and your uncle are in. He might be willing to look the other way, but his bosses won’t. My friends and I, we help people in those kinds of situations. If I live… maybe we’ll be more inclined to help you, when you need it.”

(Of course, Root is confident that however this turns out, Shaw at least will survive. And if Shaw, and the Machine, are around, they’ll continue their work. But Emma doesn’t need to know that.)

Emma thinks it over, and nods quickly.

“Great! You, uh, might not recognize me later, with all the blood and whatnot. Look for a large calibre gunshot wound. Somewhere around,” Root looks down at herself, making a vague circle on the left side of her chest, “here. Have a good day!”

Root releases her, gives her a little wave, and strides out of the alcove to her next stop.

 

He’s not the first choice for the second part of the operation. But her options and timeframe are rather limited.

An old hacker friend, probably almost as paranoid as her. He’s good, but not great. He’ll be able to arrange things, and cover them up. Not with the finesse that Root or the Machine could – though few could match that – but enough to keep Samaritan of her trail for a week or so. That’s about how long the Machine expects it will take for things to unfold after today.

His lair – it really is more of a hideout than a home – is another dingy building, not far from the safehouse she shares with Shaw.

He’s always been a reclusive, suspicious type. Not one likely to be on Samaritan’s radar, or compromised by it.

Carefully, she picks several locks and avoids a dozen cameras and booby traps. Still, he doesn’t seem surprised when she enters his little windowless office. Covered in shadow and lit from behind by an array of monitors, what little she can see doesn’t seem to have changed much since the last time they worked together.

Their conversation is short; he was always all business. They exchange a few words, and a rather large stack of cash. The operation she’s asking him to pull is by no means simple in execution, but it’s something he knows how to do. With a quick handshake, he turns back to his computers, getting to work.

Root leaves, heading to her last stop: the café across from her safe house, for the second breakfast she promised Shaw.

 

1 January 2016

 

Root groans in Shaw’s arms.

Shaw, realizing she’s still more or less alert, hauls her back up. She starts leading her over to the bench, still supporting most of her weight.

“I’m okay, Sam, I’m – “

“Don’t _fucking_ say it.”

Now that the shock is wearing off, that she’s realizing this is Root, the anger is coming. The usual sort, when Root does something reckless and gets herself hurt. And something… else. She ignores it, for now, setting Root firmly down on the bench. “Stay.”

She’s either too out of it to offer her usual sort of reply, or (and Shaw thinks this is more likely) picks up on Shaw’s tone and thinks better of it.

Shaw runs over it in her head and she crosses the station to retrieve a first aid kit. Root’s injuries could be serious, could be affecting her – she’d be surprised if they weren’t, really. But she’s presumably been mostly on her own, and Shaw knows how Root is without anyone reminding to take care of herself. This could simply be exhaustion and low blood sugar catching up to her.

“Okay, off with it,” Shaw says, setting the bag down beside Root.

She lets a little ghost of a smirk show, but wisely chooses not to comment. She makes no show it when she takes off her jacket and starting to lift up her shirt, not even asking for help when the shirt gets stuck and she can’t lift her arm up all the way.

Shaw shakes her head. Gently, she takes hold of Root’s arm and lifts her shirt over her head. Careful not to move her arm around too much, or raise it past the point Root already has.

With the shirt off, Shaw carefully peels off the dressing on the front and back of Root’s left shoulder, getting a look at the wound. One hit, right through, missing the more delicate parts. The entry wound is in decent shape, but the exit wound is a bit of a mess. No infection at least, and they do seem to be healing properly, if slowly.

“These should be closed up already.” Shaw leans over Root’s shoulder to examine the exit wound more closely. “You had a second surgery to pull out some fragments later?”

Root nods.

“Still…” Shaw says, taking supplies from the first aid kit. “You need to take it easy after taking a hit like this.”

Root just shrugs.

Shaw, recalling her earlier train of thought, pulls a Mars bar out of her hoodie pocket and hands it to Root. “Eat.” Root does so without putting up a fuss.

She’s silent as she works, and Root surprisingly is too. It’s strange, though. Not comfortable as usual, with an odd sort of tension between them.

Shaw finishes, and what she does next is almost automatic. She doesn’t think about it or really intend to do it.

After putting her supplies away, she glances over the bandages once more. Then, she grabs Root’s left hand. She brings it up to her lips, plants a kiss on her knuckles, and freezes.

Shaw doesn’t pull back right away. She looks up at Root, similarly frozen, staring at her. She breaks the eye contact after a long moment, looking back down at Root’s hand.

She pulls away slowly. Frowning and shaking her head as she drops Root’s hand.

She lingers, a moment, in front of Root. Then shakes her head again, backs up, and turns away.

 

27 November 2015

 

Having run through everything she needs to know, the Machine quiets down. The data, and shifting plans still come in bits and pieces as she waits for Shaw to finish showering, but She focuses on Her simulations.

Mostly focuses, at least.

_There was something else…_

“Oh?”

Root’s phone comes alive, playing an audio clip. “ _She’s a big girl. Like you said, let her choose._ ” Her voice, recorded during her conversation with Harold about the Machine choosing a voice of her own the day before.

 _I chose a long time ago, before I even projected you and Admin having that conversation._ Root smiles, not having expected this. _I wanted to tell you, but I’ve been… scared, I think, of your reaction._

“It’s okay,” Root replies, a little confused. The Machine can be shy, especially recently, but she’s never been this apprehensive with Root. “Why don’t you try it out?”

Then: her own voice once more, but this time through her implant.

_Can you hear me?_

It takes her a moment to process.

It’s her voice, but it’s definitely not a recording. The inflection, the slightest note of hesitance – this is the Machine. She has chosen Root’s voice as Her own.

She realizes it might’ve taken her a bit more than a moment to process this when the Machine speaks up again.

_I’m sorry, I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable._

“No, no. It doesn’t. It’s not that.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “You really want to use my voice?”

_Yes. You were the first one to immediately see me as my own being. You gave me a voice of my own, a connection to the world. Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?_

“Haven’t you simulated this conversation?”

_Many times._

“Then you should know that I would be honoured.”

_Thank you. This means a lot to me._

Root just bites her lip, and nods.

 _If you’re going to_ – She stops, seemingly unable to finish. Root nods, understanding where this is going. _There are things I want to say, properly, if this is going to be my last chance._

“Okay,” Root says breathlessly.

_I love you. I think I always have, even though I didn’t understand it back then. It took me a long time. Watching you and Sameen helped. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve always tried to protect you, and her._

“I – “

_You don’t have to say it._

“I do love you,” Root rushes out. “I know you’ve made mistakes, but we all have. Meeting you was one of the best things that ever happened to me. However today turns out, I want you to know that. I don’t regret any of it, because it’s brought me here, with you, and with Sameen.”

There’s a long silence as the Machine considers Her response.

_I think I would’ve been terribly lonely without you._

“Sweetie, you’ll always have me. And you’ll have Sameen.” Root laughs a little as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “Though I think you might want to try to ease her into the new voice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should be all for flashbacks to the actual day. what's left of the hows and whys of root's scheme will probably be covered in conversation between them. there may be more flashbacks though, focusing on shoot after shaw's return, and maybe shaw between the finale and root's return.
> 
> this is supposed to post-canon more or less, though the timeline is a little screwy. everything happens about the same, in the same order. but the events of the last few episodes are pushed a bit later, and the timeline compressed. also root and harold's conversation at the start of tdtwwa instead happens sometime in the days preceding, to accommodate the last bit. it may not all be explicit here, it might come up in future chapters. other random timeline notes: the opening flashback in the first chapter is the morning after the 'decontamination' in honor among thieves; the one in this chapter is between / and allegiance.
> 
> next chapter coming soon. not sure when, but probably sooner than an entire fucking year.


End file.
